


Miscommunication Most Foul

by Syaunei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Babel Trek Open Project (Star Trek), M/M, Miscommunication, POV Elim Garak, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: It's business as usual on Terok-err, Deep Space Nine. The Universal Translators receive an update and they temporarily break. Garak uses the ensuing chaos to his advantage, at least until another manipulator comes along and spoils his fun.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Keiko O'Brien, Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir & Jadzia Dax, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 71
Kudos: 337
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	Miscommunication Most Foul

**Author's Note:**

> The muses did not cooperate this time around.
> 
> I had hoped I could squeeze some idioms in there but failed.
> 
> I hope it's still amusing regardless!
> 
> "This is Federation Standard."  
> //This is Kardassi. And there's one tiny bit of Ferengi and I was too dead to change it into something else.//  
> >This is Klingon.<
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a morning like any other on the station. Terok Nor – no, the Federation had renamed it into the completely inelegant and insultingly banal Deep Space 9 (he should really start thinking of it as such). The lights were overly bright and the temperature always too low, but he couldn’t complain too much.

At least the slave pens and the garbage were gone. 

If there was one smell he didn’t miss, it was the stink of sweltering, filthy Bajorans. 

He also didn’t particularly miss the abrasiveness of Cardassian soldiers. If they had only known who had been fixing up their uniforms, they would have pissed themselves with fear. 

Funny, really – how context changed everything.

Placed in an isolated room with a subject, oh, how he could make them sing…

Yet, put him in a tailor shop, and suddenly he’s everybody’s whipping boy. 

Tain must have been thrilled when he came up with that particular humiliation.

A cruel reminder of his service-class roots. 

It was Tain’s way of saying:

_ “I tried to elevate you to my class, but your mother’s stock is inferior. What a pity. A weed is always a weed, even if it grows in the same garden as an orchid…” _

He was never crass enough or foolish enough to say it, but a voice in the back of his mind was uncomfortable and niggling: “If she was so inferior, why stick your prUt in her?”

Really, for all their vaunted self-control and self-discipline, the tail end of the Occupation of Bajor had shown him the depths of his race’s depravity.

Subjugation and labor camps were one thing, but rape… Slavery?

It was disgusting.

Skrain Dukat was disgusting.

If it wouldn’t have gotten him killed, he would have been more than happy to dispose of that degenerate; sauntering around with his perfect ridges and sharp face, a different Bajoran woman on his arm every week… Oh, he could almost _almost_ admire the man’s proficiency at mind games, but directing them against such helpless prey was revolting. 

Training was to be used against enemies of Cardassia, not to bend helpless and desperate women to your will.

Self-interest being placed above the interests of the Union…

It was the height of corruption.

Blasphemy!

When one put things in this perspective, being under Federation rule definitely came with a wonderful perk – he didn’t have to see the man’s smug face every day.

Temporarily mollified, Garak walked to his shop, ready to open for the day. He had some Klingon customers picking up their orders later, so he was feeling quite happy. With the money he would receive for it, he could afford a little luxury… A pack of Delavian chocolates, perhaps? It’s been a while since he’s had any…

In a considerably better mood, he strolled down the Promenade with his usual affable service-class smile (cheerfulness dialed up considerably to suit Federation tastes) and noticed some kind of commotion.

Two Starfleet Officers, a female science officer and a male engineer were talking in front of the Replimat, and seemed to have issues getting their points across. The woman seemed angry and was almost shouting at this point.

He caught some of the conversation:

“What do you mean, you don’t understand me? I’m speaking Standard! Everybody should know Standard even if your Universal Translator isn’t working!”

“Sarah, ovo nema smisla. Moramo naći nekoga da nam popravi prevoditelja.”

“Marco, you know I don’t speak Croatian, there’s no use gibbering at me!”

“Znam dovoljno da ti konačno mogu reći da si glupa krava koja smatra da je engleski najbitniji jezik na svijetu samo zato jer si rođena u bivšem kolonijalističkom imperiju! Nabij si popodnevni čaj skupa s vrućim čajnikomi pogačicama u dupe!”

Garak’s Universal Translator covered a variety of human languages, but this other language, _Croatian_ , was not one of them. He assumed it was a minor language; otherwise, the Obsidian Order would have seen fit to include it in the package. Now, while he didn’t understand the words, he knew how to discern emotion quite well, even on an alien’s face, and this man was obviously quite aggravated. 

He didn’t actually care about such petty squabbles, so he left the humans to it and moved on.

Still, the Universal Translator technology was usually quite dependable. He couldn’t recall a single instance where he’d witnessed it breaking down before.

Perhaps they’d been exposed to some type of radiation that damaged it?

Still, this was none of his business. 

He strolled casually to his shop and opened up for the day.

The three Klingon ladies arrived about half a time unit later, and he was all sharp smiles and courtesy; bedecked them in their strange outfits and offered compliments in their native language. Usually, this went unappreciated and unnoticed by the Federation types, but the rest of the Universe’s races were usually quite appreciative when a merchant conducted business in their Mother Tongue. It was viewed, quite reasonably, as a sign of respect. 

One of the Klingon women laughed and tossed him an extra strip of latinum.

He gave a gracious bow and they left, chatting in their harsh language.

Garak had to admit, he missed hearing native Kardassi. The translated version was very grating and sounded flat, almost tinny. At times, he was grateful for it, as hearing it from Bajoran mouths was strange enough on its own. 

Most times, he kept his UT turned off, like now. 

He hadn’t had cause to use it in over a year, well, not for any extended period of time, at least.

Nowadays, he only turned it on if he had a client whose race’s language he couldn’t understand. 

Obsidian Order training was quite thorough.

Even the operatives who rarely left the Union were expected to know the basics of at least three alien languages. He, as an operative who was often sent far behind the enemy lines, was expected to be fluent in considerably more than three.

Keeping his UT off was at times the only way to keep his mind sharp. With no more assignments, he could use all the practice he could get. Some days it was the only thing he could do – keep his ears and eyes open.

He was startled out of his thoughts when the station’s PA system blared loudly in Bajoran:

“Around an hour ago, there has been an update to the Federation-made Universal Translators which has caused them to malfunction. We ask any residents to be patient while the problem is addressed. Thank you for your patience.”

The message was repeated once more in Federation Standard, Ferengi (Quark sounded very smug, with his grating, whiny little voice blaring across the entire station), Vulcan (some Starfleet officer, no doubt), Bolian (he wasn’t sure whose voice it was) and he was surprised to hear the last announcement spoken in trade-speak. It was a strange amalgamation of several languages, with the occasional Kardassi word thrown in, which was nice to hear. 

As the only Cardassian resident, he seriously doubted anyone even considered going for an announcement in his language. 

Perhaps it was better this way. It’s not like the native population needed reminding.

The last thing he needed was an irate Bajoran cussing him out for existing. 

Sometimes he wondered whether any of them remembered him from before the Federation swooped in, since none of them seemed to care that he’d also been treated miserably. 

He guessed one look at his ridges was enough to form an unchanging, permanent (and naturally, negative) opinion.

Garak briefly chided himself for wasting his brainpower on such unproductive things and went back to his fabrics. 

He was almost done embroidering the sleeve of a particularly fiddly dress when he heard footsteps approaching.

With a (mostly) genuine smile, he got up to greet one of his regulars.

“Good morning, Garak! I came to pick up Molly’s pajamas; you said you would have them ready this morning?” Keiko O’Brien greeted him pleasantly, and the response was at the tip of his tongue when he realized an important fact - if nobody’s UT was working, they would notice he knew (or didn’t know) their language… which wasn’t ideal. 

Instead, he opted to greet her in Kardassi.

// Good morning, Mrs. O’Brien – I regret I cannot greet you as I usually do, as that would be quite inconvenient for me and now I have to pretend I didn’t understand you, but since we spoke only two days ago, I will assume you want your daughter’s sleepwear, so I shall go out back and fetch it for you immediately. //

He gave her a mild smile and went off to grab the neatly folded little pile. 

Of all his customers, Keiko O’Brien was one of the few that remarked on how lovely and tidy his folding was. He would never admit this to her, but he appreciated the compliment. She was a very orderly woman and he quite admired that quality.

She would also occasionally converse with him about gardening, and once even gave him valuable advice about a tricky fern he was having difficulties with.

All in all, he quite liked her. 

Pity her husband was such a bigoted, crass fool.

Worst of all, Julian claimed the man as his friend a while back.

It was annoying to be forced to share the lovely Doctor’s time with a person who clearly hated the mere sight of his ridges. 

“Oh, I’m very sorry, Garak… I had assumed your Translator would be working since it wasn’t Federation-make… But then again, perhaps you chose to use it over a Cardassian model…”

He gave her a helpless look and handed over her daughter’s clothing.

“Thank you, Garak.” The woman gave him a kind and sympathetic smile, and then took the proffered garments.

//You are very welcome, Mrs O’Brien, say hello to your lovely daughter and to that racist fool you call a husband. What you see in him, I’ll never know.//

She gave him a tiny bow with her head and he was struck with how similar it was to a Cardassian gesture of acknowledgment. He found himself rather touched (against his better judgment). 

Offering her a servile little bow, Garak went back to his embroidery.

Time went by surprisingly swiftly and before he knew it, it was lunch time. 

He got up to stretch his increasingly stiff limbs and cursed this low temperature he was continually subjected to. It was doing his joints no favors (he staunchly refused to acknowledge his age could have anything to do with that). He should probably exercise more.

With a satisfied hum, he locked up his shop and headed to the Replimat. 

Any day that contained one of his lunch debates with Bashir was a good day.

At least as good as it ever got on this floating refrigerator.

When he got to the Replimat, there was no Julian. Slightly disheartened, he decided to fetch his meal and reserve a table, hoping his delightful human companion wouldn’t tarry overlong.

Their time together was already quite limited, and the way the dear Doctor inhaled his food only reduced it further.

Garak has had to resort to increasingly more heated debates to keep the young man’s attention and make him stay longer. If there was one thing you could count on, it was Bashir arguing his point until he was delightfully flushed and flailing.

Ah, that was always the highlight of his day.

Just as he’d sat down with his meal, the good Doctor came rushing in, panting and slightly out of breath. 

Garak watched him, trying to suppress the thought of seeing the human panting from some other, significantly more pleasurable activity…

What a pity.

“Garak! Good, you’re here! Not… uh, not that I thought you wouldn’t be, today’s just been so crazy and the Translators are still down and everything’s a mess… Sorry I’m late, I’ll just go grab something real quick, be back in a jiffy-”

Hah. The poor dear didn’t even notice his politely confused face. 

This would be interesting.

He waited patiently for his sweet friend to return and once the lithe human all but collapsed into the seat on the opposite side of the table, he spoke, pretending to be apologetic:

//My dear, I am terribly sorry for this little deception, but you’ve never heard me speak the Mother Tongue and I am quite curious what you think of it…//

“Uh…” Julian looked at him, clearly dismayed. “Garak, I’m so sorry, I don’t understand you, gosh… I didn’t even think… Does your UT at least work?”

Garak blinked a few times and sighed.

//I admit I had expected a more… engaging reaction… Of all the aliens aboard this station, I had quite hoped at least you could appreciate the beauty of my language… Such a shame…//

“Wait, is that Kardassi??” Julian exclaimed, clearly excited. “I’ve never heard it spoken untranslated! I mean, it has to be, right? Say something else!”

This enthusiasm coaxed a genuine smile out of him.

//And this is the point where I have to pretend and signal my bemusement, oh yes, I see it’s working by the expression on your lovely animated face, and I could tell you all sorts of embarrassing things, but I’m not foolish enough to disclose my true opinion of you in such a public place, especially with the possibility of those little devices getting fixed unexpectedly.//

Oh, now he was getting a strange look. Julian seemed slightly abashed and lowered his head to stare at his food, only now noticing it was there. He attacked his meal with his usual terrifying speed and Garak chuckled. 

//The way you eat should be considered a crime. On Cardassia, you would get punished for table manners so atrocious. Your mother would pinch your soft neck ridges and drag you away from the table and any polite company, whining and protesting. I really don’t know why I tolerate it.//

Julian looked at him with his big, warm eyes and Garak’s heart gave a little twinge.

_ No, Elim.  _ He reminded himself. _Don’t be sentimental._

“Garak… Can you understand me? If you can, just nod...”

He considered nodding for a moment and then decided not to.

//Ah, my dear Doctor… I should really try to find a way to move this conversation along, but it’s been so long since I’ve spoken my language to another living being, that I must ask you to forgive me and indulge me a little while longer…//

The young man shrugged.

“Huh… Ok… I guess not. Hm. What shall we talk about then? I-uh… I don’t suppose you’d care to hear about my day?”

//My dear, I’d be satisfied with you listing an alphabetized list of the entire inventory in this station’s cargo holds. Though, to be perfectly frank with you, I’d rather you told me something you wouldn’t otherwise share, simply because you think I cannot understand you…//

“Oh!” Bashir said suddenly, “Do you know Vulcan? I know some! We could try that!”

And then the poor dear tried to ask him whether he could speak Vulcan, but he mixed up the word “speak” with the word “drool” and it took all of his self-discipline not to burst out laughing. Instead, he gave Julian a bemused smile and a helpless hand gesture.

Julian visibly deflated.

“Right… You don’t know Vulcan… Sorry. Hm… What other language could you know…”

Garak momentarily felt sorry for his lunch companion. 

If this was any other day, they would be well into their usual flirting over literature (yes, Garak was well aware it was painfully one-sided and all in his head). There was no way Julian would consider him for an entanglement, what with his tastes running in a decidedly younger, pretty and above all else, _female_ direction.

//It saddens me that you seem to have no inclination towards men whatsoever. Some days, when our debates get heated enough, I can fool myself into thinking that your flushed skin and gleaming eyes signal interest in more than winning an argument against me. I still think about that offer you made, to finish that _kanar_ bottle between ourselves someplace private… I imagine that night having gone differently… My Father would murder me if he knew. Oh, I have a feeling he suspects anyways. You and your stupid, reckless, misplaced bravery. What were you thinking, going to that man to plead for my life? That put you on his radar… Now he must think you have some vested interest in me… And how I hope he could be right about that…//

Garak sighed again. He was getting terribly maudlin. 

Julian was looking at him with an awfully endearing little smile.

“I understood exactly one word out of all of that… If you want _kanar_ right now, I wouldn’t blame you. Got to fill your time somehow, now when I’m useless as company…”

Garak felt his resolve wavering. Julian, useless company? Never.

Still… telling the truth would be terribly unwise. 

So he opted to eat instead.

“You know…” Julian said hesitantly, “Kardassi sounds rather, uh- nice? I, ah-that sounds very trite, doesn’t it… Telling you your proud language sounds merely nice. It’s a good thing you can’t understand me, or you’d be verbally tearing me into shreds by now…”

Garak smiled wryly and finished chewing his bite properly before answering.

//I am gratified you think it sounds lovely, and yes, I will pretend that you said lovely instead of nice, because you are right, that is a rather banal word, and you are anything but banal, my dear. And now I wonder whether it has ever occurred to you why I verbally spar with you?//

Julian gave him an apologetic smile.

“That sounded like a question, but I can’t answer… I’m really sorry, Garak. I should have made an effort to learn Kardassi, but with the UT… I didn’t think that would ever be necessary…”

//I would quite like to see your lovely mouth shaping the words of my, as you said, proud language, my dear Ju-hm let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, shall we?//

“You repeat some words… I wonder if you’re trying to tell me something, and I’m just sitting here like a useless lump!”

Garak was extremely tempted to tell Julian that he was as far away from useless as it was physically possible, but that would sound suspiciously like he could understand the man, so he refrained.

//You seem to be mired in self-reproach at the moment, my dear, so I’ll just do this instead.//

Garak reached across the table and placed his palm gently over Julian’s hand resting on the surface.

“Hah… You must think I need comforting by reading my face. You’re kind. I think you can be… When you’re not busy lying to my face.”

Garak observed him for a long moment and then sighed.

// I don’t want to lie… It’s for your own good. If you knew… You would never speak to me again. And I am quite lonely as is. Without your company, I would start making little sock puppets and talking to them. Perhaps they would agree with me that human literature is sentimental drivel.//

“I don’t even know when you’re addressing me! I say Garak and you know it’s your name being used, but you never call me by my name, so even if you say some derivation of Doctor, I cannot understand it!”

Garak allowed himself the small indulgence of brushing the young man’s soft hand with his thumb. He dared not do more.

Julian sighed, but didn’t move his hand away.

They both continued eating, using only one of their hands and neither remarked upon it. The human’s smaller, yet wonderfully elegant hand was warm underneath his palm.

Then he noticed something interesting.

The Doctor was no longer scarfing down his food like he would die of hunger otherwise.

Garak allowed himself a small, self-indulgent smile and finished his meal in peace.

Once their plates were clear, Garak noted Julian reluctantly pulling his hand away to take his tray to the reclamator. Not seeing an alternative, he bit back another sigh which was threatening to emerge and did the same. 

Just as he was about ready for the parting words to shatter their little oasis of peace, Julian looked at him and offered:

“Garak, would you like to go for a glass of _kanar_ at Quark’s? Wait… too many words… _Kanar_ at Quark’s? You and me?” Here the Doctor pointed to them both in an endearingly inclusive gesture and Garak could no longer pretend he didn’t understand. 

//I would like nothing better, my dear. Kanar at Quark’s it is.//

Julian’s thus far despondent face blossomed into a wide grin.

“You understood me! That’s great! Let’s go!” He said happily and Garak walked by his side, feeling quite pleased with this turn of events.

When they stepped into Quark’s, Garak noticed the bar was currently experiencing pure pandemonium. 

The dabo wheel appeared temporarily out of commission, seeing how the people around it were arguing and clearly had no idea what exactly they were arguing about, and Quark seemed quite overwhelmed behind the bar, trying to take orders from customers that obviously didn’t understand him.

Julian went to the bar, clearly enunciated the word _kanar_ , picked up two glasses from behind the bar, pointed to them, and then pointed to himself and Garak and then looked at Quark expectantly.

The Ferengi spoke in his squeaky voice, //What, you want _kanar_? I thought hew-mons hated that stuff! Garak, why didn’t you order, since you can actually understand me?//

Garak feigned ignorance and Quark just spat out an expletive and poured the _kanar_ into the glasses Julian had picked. The Doctor seemed so very pleased by his success, that Garak couldn’t help a soft smile.

His dear human was ridiculous.

He followed Garak to a more secluded table upstairs and sat down, placing their drinks on the table. 

Garak accepted his glass graciously and politely thanked his companion.

Julian’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

“Was that a _thank you_? Oh! I could learn Kardassi like this!”

//I dare say you could, my dear.//

Julian beamed at him and clinked their glasses together.

“Cheers!”

//To Cardassia!// Garak exclaimed, rather amused.

Julian looked at him, mouth agape.

“That sounded like-don’t tell me you toast to Cardassia?! They even make you toast to your fascist state?? That’s so sad!”

Garak looked at him crossly.

//What better toast there is, than to the glory and enduring prosperity of the Union?//

With that, he smirked and took a mouthful.

Julian did the same and promptly swallowed, to Garak’s amusement.

“Oh yes, I guess you don’t need any words to translate the revulsion on my face, do you?” The poor human muttered, looking quite uncomfortable. “It tastes like overly sweetened pickled fish! Fish, Garak! That’s disgusting!”

//Of course it tastes like fish, that’s the main ingredient.// 

“Must you be so smug, Garak? Next time, I’m ordering something that doesn’t taste like the residue on the floor of the waste disposal system…”

//Don’t blame me, dear Doctor, blame Quark for watering it down and buying truly atrocious vintages. In the Union, he would be sent to a labor camp for selling this swill. If I could get you the good stuff, you would be chattering away at me as happily as a Ba’ateni leaf-jumper.//

“I bet you just said something about me having no appreciation for your culture in general and let me tell you, Garak, if your literature was any worse, I would be showing up to every lunch drunk out of my mind to even force myself to go through the analysis!”

//Please, dear Doctor, there’s no need for insults so early in the day… Drink your _kanar_.//

“You’re chiding me! Don’t think I can’t tell! Your face gets all… _condescending_ and your eyes are all, _My dear Doctor, let me show you exactly how dreadfully wrong you are…”_

//Well, someone has to educate you… You’re awfully convinced that you’re clever, and I must give credit where credit is due, as you most certainly are very intelligent, but you can’t seem to accept when you are clearly in the wrong, and that is why I simply cannot take it lying down…//

“This is incredible!” Julian laughed incredulously, “Neither one of us understands the other, and still, we manage to argue! I’m starting to believe that fighting is a Cardassian national sport or something!”

//No, my dear, merely very obvious flirting. If you were Cardassian, you would be considered a terrible tease.//

With that, he took another demure sip of his kanar.

Julian sighed and drained his glass, scrunching up his face in a most amusing display of disgust.

“Ugh, you’re crazy for liking this. Gah. I might need to grab something for the nausea… Damn it… Why did this have to happen on my afternoon off? I was looking forward to speaking with you this entire week and now look at us! Bickering over fermented fish juice disguised as alcohol and lost in translation. I hate this.”

Garak smiled and reached out for Julian’s hand again, to which the human let out a tiny gasp.

// I wish this little reaction of yours meant something different…//

“Julian!” An enthusiastic voice breached their little bubble and Garak noticed with dismay, that his companion immediately removed his hand.

“Jadzia! Please tell me you understand Standard… I feel like an idiot, talking to a Cardassian who doesn’t get a single word I’m saying. And vice-versa, of course.”

“Are you sure, Julian?” Dax narrowed her too-sharp eyes at him and assessed his expression with a long, piercing stare. “He should have a Cardassian Translator which wouldn’t be affected…”

His Julian was giving him a betrayed look and he almost felt bad for his deception. 

Almost.

“What’s wrong with your Universal Translator?” She asked him in Vulcan.

“Jadzia, he doesn’t know Vulcan, I tried that already.”

Undeterred, she asked in Bajoran.

He just blinked at her, looking lost.

She tried several others and he knew he would have to give her something soon, or she would call his bluff.

When she spoke in Klingon, he visibly perked up.

Answering a bit haltingly (yet still correctly) he spoke:

> I have upgraded to a Federation-made model a year ago. <

“Wait, what did he say?” Julian asked, clearly thrilled at the idea of having an interpreter.

“He said he also has a Federation-issue.” Jadzia translated, even though Garak could see she was suspicious.

“Oh… Then we’re all in the same boat.” The Doctor murmured regretfully.

“Mind if I join you, boys?” She asked in Standard and Garak very much wanted to say that yes, he minded very much, and would she be so kind as to take her infuriatingly attractive self someplace else, but knew that would be a spectacularly bad idea.

Instead, he watched with a carefully bland and mildly confused expression on his face as she sat down and flagged a Ferengi waiter, ordering in their language. Her accent was quite good.

So was her Klingon, as a matter of fact. 

Joined Trill had quite an unfair advantage, in his opinion.

“So, what have you been talking about?” She asked and the Doctor answered.

“I’ve been talking _at_ him, Jadzia. Mostly about how much I regret not learning Kardassi.”

Seeing an opportunity, Garak seized it.

>What did the Doctor say? <

Jadzia spared him a glance and answered in Klingon:

>Julian says he’s been desperately trying to ask you on a date and that he regrets working up the courage to do so only now. <

Garak couldn’t help the widening of his eyes, or the traitorous way they glanced in Julian’s direction. 

Of course, he knew that was decidedly _not_ what the good Doctor had said, but he couldn’t afford to show anything other than belief in her words.

>If that is a joke, Lieutenant Dax, it is in very poor taste.<

>Oh, it’s not, I assure you. I think he was expecting you to make the first move, actually.<

Garak knew she was currently having fun at his expense, but he couldn’t help but think…

What if it was true?

What if Julian was uncertain whether his affections would be returned and therefore opted to wait for the other person to make the first move? Not that he hadn’t made about a million moves already…

“What was that about?” Julian asked eagerly.

“Oh, he just asked me to translate.” She said, all innocence.

“Could you tell him… I would like to learn Kardassi from him, if he’s willing, of course. I know how secretive Cardassians are with their information…”

Garak was looking at her expectantly, already dreading what she would come up with.

>He said he thinks that Kardassi is really sexy and that he wouldn’t mind learning all its secrets from you…<

At this point, he was trying really hard not to give himself away. It was quite cruel of her to keep up these (sadly) baseless insinuations.

>I would gladly instruct him, if he so desired.<

_ Sentiment, Elim. It cost you dearly before… _

“He said he’d love to and asked me whether you had free time this afternoon for your first lesson.”

Julian’s skin flushed rather attractively and he stammered.

“I-uh, so soon? I mean… Sure? Why not?”

“Splendid!” She exclaimed in satisfaction and turned to him next.

>He said he was free for a one-on-one lesson this afternoon. Your quarters, because his are a mess.<

Garak was momentarily stunned by her audaciousness. What was she even playing at?

>This isn’t funny, Lieutenant. In fact, I dare say it is quite cruel.<

She pretended he had said something quite amusing and “translated” to Julian.

What a mess.

“He’s invited you to his quarters, says he has resources there you’ll need.”

“Oh.” Julian said simply. “I, ah… No time like the present, I guess?”

With that, he stood up and Garak wondered what absurd thing the Trill would spout now.

>He says he’d like to go immediately.<

Feeling rather cornered, Garak got up and smiled.

>This is a terribly unwise course of action, Dax.< He warned her, but she only laughed.

>Just woo him already, you idiot. He’ll melt in your hands, I promise.<

A big part of him was certain she was just playing one of her pranks, but the shy smile on Julian’s face seemed so alluring he could do little but acquiesce. 

This had the potential to end up in disaster and he quietly regretted pretending he couldn’t understand the dear Doctor.

It dawned on him only now that they could have had a perfectly wonderful afternoon conversing, if only he’d revealed that he’d been speaking Standard for months already, without Bashir noticing…

Perhaps this stupid glitch of theirs would go away en route to his quarters?

A man could hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Croatian translation:
> 
> "Sarah, this is pointless. We have to find someone to fix the translator..."
> 
> and
> 
> "I know enough to be able to finally tell you that you’re a stupid cow who thinks English is the most important language in the world only because you were born in a former colonial empire! Stick your afternoon tea, hot teapot, crumpets and all - up your butt!”
> 
> Now excuse me as I go crash from lack of sleep...


End file.
